The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that--pierced--died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.In an age of materiality and hard empiricism, the resurrection of Jesus challenges modern assumptions that miracles are impossible. There is certainly no miracle that more comforts me, having already had various close encounters with surgery and experienced life after 50. I increasingly look forward to my own physical existence coming up for renewal when Jesus returns. To me, this is also what Easter is about. Because the Son rose, this son (which is what my name, Ben, means in Hebrew) will also one day rise.

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